First Date
by Heart Torn Out
Summary: John's going on a date with a certain consulting detective. Sherlock just doesn't know it yet. SLASH DON'T LIKE DON'T READ BUT YOU SHOULD READ!


**SO! I have been gone for SOOOO long my loves. So sorry. BUT! I got a Tumblr, which is why i've been away. So. You can check it out at .. I role-play as Lestrade with the 221b Baker Street RPG. We all rock over there. Give me a quick Anon ASK shout out and I'll answer you or follow me and I'll return the favor!**

**Anyway, I've had this in my notebook for-fucking-ever. Started it last SUMMER guiz. UGH. Also, oops. HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALLS!**

**So it's fluff. And the title comes from Blink 182's song First Date.**

**Current Song: Passenger by OneRepublic**

**Current Thought: I DON'T WANNA READ TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD NO NO NO NO WHHHHY CRUEL WORLD WHY?  
><strong>**Also: HUNGRY.**

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><p><strong>First Date<strong>

It wasn't that there were human heads in the fridge. It wasn't that the orange juice was always gone. It wasn't even that he never got to sleep with that blasted violin going or even that the wall in the sitting room had indents where the bullets have hit it from the others side.

No.

It was the fact that John couldn't go on one blasted date without being interrupted, that Sherlock was starting to get on his nerves. And no, that wasn't it, not really. What really was getting to him, was that Sherlock would interrupt… _and John didn't mind_. That was what was getting at John. Sherlock would call with a case and interrupt a lovely outing with some blond and John would tell her sorry and run, like it was normal. Sherlock would pop up at the cinema and say that John needed to get out and help him with something and John would whisper his apologies and leave. It could be something as small as exploding something all over the flat to a murderer in their neighborhood. But John went and was ok with going. Hell, sometimes he was _relieved_ to go.

And that just bugged the hell out of him.

Because he _should _ care, he _should_ get at least _one_ date alone, undisturbed, so he knows what it's like. At the least. _Just once_.

The second thing is that John is sure Sherlock is doing in _on purpose_. Why? To hell if John knew! And he had a mind to ask. Who would he ask, that was the _real_ question.

There was Lestrade but no; he'd get made fun of by the whole Yard and that wasn't acceptable. He could ask Mrs. Hudson, but the older woman was already on their case. Anderson…well that would be a mess, he doesn't even know why he would think of it. Mycroft was out of the question. He didn't need Mycroft to _know_.

To know that, maybe, the reason John didn't mind getting interrupted during a date wasn't because he wasn't enjoying himself… but because _Sherlock_ was doing the _interrupting_.

And yes, now that John thought of it, he's always had a better time with Sherlock than he's ever had with anyone else. Now that he thought of it, if it were anyone else interrupting he'd be furious.

Hell, if there was anyone interrupting them if he was on a date with _Sherlock_… well it wouldn't be pretty.

He stopped at that, in the middle of the bloody street. He _would_ be angry if anyone interrupted his time with Sherlock. And that was… that was frightening. That was just… terrifying. What was he supposed to _do _ with information like that? With information like the fact that he was worried whenever Sherlock did something stupid, or information like the fact that he'd rather be around the man than anyone else. How he liked how focused he was on his ridiculous experiments, how he didn't really mind the heads in the fridge or the orange juice always being gone. How he wouldn't be able to sleep if Sherlock wasn't playing the violin, how it would be odd if Sherlock wasn't shooting at walls or speaking with a skull with infinite names.

He came to the conclusion that maybe, just maybe (alright, _most definitely_) he wanted to go on a date with Sherlock Holmes.

But, first things first: was Sherlock sabotaging his love-life or not? And of course the ultimate question: who to ask? John honestly didn't know where to start. He went over his list again: D.I. Lestrade, Donovan, Anderson, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, Anthea, Molly…

Molly.

If anyone had been watching Sherlock more than John, or Mycroft for that matter, it would be Molly. Shite, he was going to go ask Molly. And he got an odd feeling in his stomach. Not nerves, just… that good sensation of anticipation.

Because he really _was_ going to ask her.

* * *

><p>The young woman stared at him. And then stared some more. She stared until she laughed and John was not expecting that.<p>

"I'm being serious Molly," John said wearily. "I'd appreciate it if you'd stop laughing."

She cleared her throat. "Sorry, but-" And now she stifled a giggle. "This is a great joke. Now where's Sherlock? Hiding in the eaves? Did he put you up to this?"

John blinked back a bit, absolutely confused. "Molly, what the hell are you talking about? I asked you if it's possible that Sherlock is intentionally ruining my love-life and if so, why, and you laughed at me!" He pouted a bit, then cringed, because he was aware that he was not a child. "Why?"

Molly's eyes went wide. "Because you can't expect me to fall for _that_. Of course he's ruined your love-life." And now she looked a bit sulky. "You two are dating!"

John said faintly, "_Dating?_"

Molly rolled her eyes. As if John had thought she wouldn't notice he had taken Sherlock from her. "Ha-ha, John. Not so funny anymore. You can't fool me, or, in that case, _anyone_. We all can see how much you like him and," now she sighed, "how he _absolutely_ adores you. We've all been talking about it. So cut it out." She frowned. "I'm busy."

"He…he _adores_ me?" John said incredulously. Molly, for the first time since they started this conversation, looked worried. "Since when does he adore _me_? Adler and Moriarty, I'd expect; they're brilliant. But…_me_?"

"John?" she said uncertainly. "Do you need to…to sit down?" John just dropped into her chair, still zoned-out. Molly just looked worried. "John…John what's going on?"

And suddenly, Sherlock walked in, as if he knew he was being spoken about and wanted in on the conversation. He surveyed the scene with his sharp eyes and a wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows as he walked over to where Molly was anxiously rubbing John's back. John stared wide-eyed at him.

"John," Sherlock said slowly. "What _is_ the matter with you?"

John continued to stare. This man _adored_ him. He _adored_ John. And John felt his chest swell with a familiar warmth, one he'd only felt a spare few times in his life and…_oh shite_.

He said as much out loud and there was something that could be compared to worry in Sherlock's eyes at the oath, and he walked over to them, shooing a harried looking Molly away.

"John, you've gone pale," Sherlock said and he took John's face into his hands to peer at him. "You look ill, are you ill?"

John didn't answer; he just stared at Sherlock, was hyper-aware of those palms cradling his face and just how perfect that felt. And how hadn't he realized how he felt before? He was an absolute moron, sometimes, John realized. "I'm an idiot."

Sherlock looked even more confused. "Well, yes, on occasion. But you're better than everyone else. Anyway, what has that to do with you looking ill?" John uncharacteristically blushed at that - because he wasn't really ill and Sherlock may have been mother-hen-ing him – and was surprised when, his face still in the man's hands, Sherlock rubbed his thumbs over John's hot cheeks soothingly. "Is this a blush or a fever? I think it's a fever, Molly what have you done to my poor Watson?" And then Sherlock let go of his face and turned coolly toward a baffled Molly. John only focused on the last part.

_My Watson._

Molly, meanwhile, blanched. "M-me? I- I didn't…" She composed herself. "_He's _the one who came in here asking odd questions about your collective love-life." She pouted.

Sherlock's hands clenched and his eyes widened just a fraction. John was sure _he_ was the only one who was able to tell the difference. "Our _collective_ love-life?"

Molly looked absolutely frustrated now. "Oh God, not you too. He was giving me that look. He looked like he'd seen a specter when I told him you adored him. And that it was obvious _he_ adored _you_." Molly gave him an unimpressed, almost hurt, look. "Really, you two. Is it Pick On Molly Day? Because-"

But Sherlock was talking out of the room, his coat whipping behind him. He hadn't even looked back at John or Molly. Speaking of which she turned to John worriedly. John himself only looked weary. He hadn't a clue of what had just happened, but John knew he and Sherlock needed to talk. First things first though.

"John, what is the matter with you two? Did you have a row?" Molly asked worriedly, as if she were afraid John was going to damage her Sherlock.

John sighed, not having the strength to correct her. "Something like that," he said. Then he got up and left.

* * *

><p>John had made a plan and by God, he was going to go through with it. It's been several weeks since Sherlock had spoken to him. He avoided John in the flat when they were both home, ignored John when they went on cases. Hell, even Anderson was getting edgy at the coldness that radiated off the two of them.<p>

John, on the other hand, felt immeasurably hurt by it all. Sherlock didn't even spare him a word, nor glance. _Nothing._ He felt his chest tighten each time he saw Sherlock, he knew he was falling even worse than before. And it hurt that Sherlock couldn't, no_ wouldn't_ even talk to him about what Molly had said. It _hurt_ and that was all that John could think of, because if Molly was wrong…

Well, if Molly was wrong, then John didn't know how he was going to stay and live in the same flat with someone who didn't love him.

Yes _love_. That feeling John got in his chest, in his heart, in his soul? It was definitely love and with him, that didn't happen often. Barely , even. Maybe never. But it was happening now and it was better late than never, John thought.

So he had a plan and he was going to execute it. It involved a lot of secrecy and a lot of cunning, but John had a feeling that he could pull it off. After all, ever since that day so many weeks ago, Sherlock hadn't been on his A-game.

Today was his day.

John walked into the sitting room at about four o'clock. He took in a deep breath, since the sight of Sherlock sprawled haphazardly on the couch made it hard for him to breathe. Clearing his throat, he waited a few minutes, just to see if Sherlock would look up. No such luck, and John felt just how much he wanted that steel-eyed gaze on him again. He sighed at Sherlock's still figure before he spoke.

"I'm going out," John said, the first words either of them had said directly to the other in weeks. "Just so you know."

The reaction that elicited was not what John expected. Sherlock sat straight up and turned to look at John, briefly, before he flicked his eyes to the door. "Out?" His tone was one of boredom.

"Yes," John said, trying to hide his relief that Sherlock had finally said something directly to him. "Yes out. As in out with people."

Sherlock looked straight at him now, in light of this new revelation, with a confused look on his face. "People?" he said, as if he'd never heard the word before.

John tried not to feel smug at his deception. "Yes. We're going to Angelo's, actually."

The look on Sherlock's face looked completely betrayed. It made John's heart ache a bit, actually, and for a moment, he wanted to snatch his words back from the air. But he held steady. _You must persevere, John_, he thought to himself.

"Let me understand this," Sherlock said, folding his hands under his chin as he spoke. "You are going _out_ with people-"

"A _person_," John corrected gently.

Sherlock swallowed visibly. "You are going out with a _person_…to _Angelo's_?" John understood the unintentional note of hurt in Sherlock's voice. Angelo's was _their_ place to go eat out. The fact that John was bringing someone else…? Yes. That had to hurt.

"Anything to say about that?" John said softly.

Sherlock did look as if he wanted to say something, several somethings that included oaths of the vulgar kind, but then he settled back onto the couch and folded his arms stiffly, a blank look on his face. "No," he said. "Why would I? It's your life."

And John? Well, John was expecting that, so he left with a, "Don't wait up!" and walked out the door, making his way over to Angelo's.

* * *

><p>John waited at the table for about an hour before Sherlock burst through the front doors of the little restaurant and spotted him. He made his way over to John, a wrinkle between his brows that steadily dissolved into a frown when he realized that no one was with the other man at the moment.<p>

When he actually spoke to John a minute later, he was looking out the window. "Look, I don't care if your date is in the lav, or _whatever_, but…" Sherlock trailed off on his own accord and John hadn't even spoke, just looked at Sherlock quietly, never taking his eyes off of him. Sherlock's steel grey eyes flicked to john once, then twice and fixated on him when he realized John was staring patiently. "Where," Sherlock said a bit hesitantly, licking his lips unconsciously, "where _is_ your date, anyway?"

John gave Sherlock an unimpressed look. "C'mon Sherlock. Use that big brain of yours that you like to brag about all the time. _You _tell _me_."

It was an amazing thing, watching Sherlock work, and it absolutely _did things_ to John whenever he saw it happen in front of him, Like, for example, right now as Sherlock was absorbing data and detail like a sponge, John felt his heart beating faster and his throat going dry as he tried to swallow. When Sherlock's gaze met his once again, John felt a jolt of electricity lick its way down his spine. Damn, that wasn't _normal_, how was he supposed to ignore that?

Simple: he _wouldn't_, absolutely refused to.

"You're date isn't here yet," Sherlock said, his gaze flicking over one thousand different things, taking in a million little details. Something akin to anger flashed in Sherlock's eyes. "You got stood up. How dare they-"

"Not quite. My date just got here, as a matter of fact," John said, his heart starting to stutter out of it's erratic rhythm.

Sherlock whirled around, scanning the crowd. "Are they late? They're late, why would they be late if they're coming to see _you_? Where are they?"

"I'm staring at him, watching him frantically ramble," John said with a quiet chuckle.

Every muscle in Sherlock's body locked as he slowly turned to look at John. His eyes widened marginally, so that it was almost comical, and then he said a bit unsure, "_I'm_ your date."

"_You_ are my date, yes," John confirmed. "So sit your arse down. I doubt we really have anywhere to be right now. So." Sherlock lowered himself into his seat, still looking like a deer caught in the headlights, his eyes never leaving John's face. He was stiff and didn't seem to even be breathing. "Sherlock, I'm not going o kill you. Relax," John sighed.

"No, but you're going to speak and tell me how foolish I've been being and then you'll inform me that you'll be leaving the flat and-"

John cut him off mid-ramble. "Is that what you think is happening here?" was his incredulous answer. "You think I'm moving out because you're being your normal, emotionally inept self? _God, no._ Sherlock, I said you were my _date_. Stop reading into things."

"Then you'll want to…what's the term generally used? _Love me and leave me_?" Sherlock said icily. "No thank you, John."

John stared at him for a moment, completely bereft of words before kicking him in the shin under the table. At Sherlock's surprised exclamation of pain, John said, "You daft _git_. Ever think that maybe_, just maybe,_ I have an _actual_ interest in you? As a _person_?"

"There's nothing of interest to like about me," Sherlock said blankly. "I'm not likeable."

"You're likeable to _me_," John said, feeling the frustration growing in his chest.

"But that's impractical," Sherlock said with surprising feeling. "You are, essentially, _you_; strong, brave, practical, sane. And I am, respectively, _me_; eccentric, genius, isolated and _insane_. And we are not compatible, we won't stick. And you, you probably don't feel _anything_ for me. We've just been flat-mates for too long. I'm just being practical, Jo-"

John snapped. He had enough of this pity-party, this, this _logic_, this _practicality_. "Do _not_, do not try to tell me what _I _ feel," John said heatedly, leaning across the small table. Sherlock actually flinched backward, his face a mask of surprise. John started to run away with himself. "You have no _idea_ what I feel for you, what I've been _going through_ these last few weeks, you stuck up _boy-genius_-"

"_Boy_?" Sherlock managed to splutter.

"-you sodding _lunatic_! To think that there's _nothing_ desirable about _you_, to think that _I'm_ going to _leave_ _you_! With your perfect face, and giant heart and stunning eyes and that _beautiful _mind I _absolutely fell in love with_. So don't _you_ tell me what _I'm_ feeling because-"

"_John_?" Sherlock said a bit weak.

"-you have _no_ idea-"

"John? _God, John_!" Sherlock continued, trying to get John's attention desperately.

"-and you don't _understand_ because you _don't want to_ and –_ what_?" John finally exclaimed, glad that they were in the back of the restaurant and away from on-looking eyes. "What could you _possibly_ have to say to me, _right now_?"

Sherlock was at an actual loss for words before he finally choked out, "S-say it again?"

"What, that you're a fool? Because I _will_, I most certainly-"

"No, you _moron_. That you _love_ me." The words coming out of Sherlock's mouth were a whisper. "Because you _said_ it, you fell in love with me and John…John that _needs_ to be true." Sherlock swallowed. "So please. _Please_ repeat that, because I don't yet _believe_ it and-"

"_I love you_," John said, cutting him off, swallowing. "Oh God, I hadn't even realized I'd– I _do_. I promise. I do, don't _ever_ doubt that."

Sherlock seemed to look into John's soul then and nodded, as if confirming something. "You really do." There was a small smile on his face.

"Of course!" John exclaimed, as if he felt a bit hurt that he would be doubted. And then he shyly rubbed the back of his neck and said, "A-and…_you_?"

Sherlock looked lost. "Me what?"

John felt his heart break a little, wilted down into his seat, the fight gone out of him. "Do you…uh…that is…" He felt lame, that he even had to ask. "Do you…love…_me_?"

Sherlock looked surprised. "John, I've loved you since you decided to share a flat with me." He actually took John's hand now. "Don't _you_ ever doubt _that_." And he smiled, then called Angelo over. "Check please."

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><p><strong>Holy shit guiz. Did you see A Scandal In Belgravia? The new eppie of BBC's Sherlock? SO MUCH GAY. SO MUCH LESTRADE. SO MUCH MYCROFT WHAT WHAT. I fell in love with that episode guiz. Watched it soooo many times now. RIDICULOUS I KNOW BUT MY HEART. MY HEART GUIZ I CANNO DO IT. <strong>

**Also: FIN.**

**Reviews?**


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